


To Sleep, Perchance to Dread

by ukhoneyb (katyastevens)



Category: Max Steel (TV 2000), Max Steel - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Darkfic, F/M, Gen, Mindscrew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyastevens/pseuds/ukhoneyb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After falling ill, Josh wakes up to find that four and a half years has passed without him remembering a thing. Plagued with odd and unsettling dreams, he tries to figure out what's occured and why he can't remember anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**To Sleep, Perchance To Dread**

Prologue:

If there was a Hell, Josh certainly felt like he had been renting a space there for the past couple of days. He had managed to catch an annoying cold, one which hovered around with small symptoms – a sore throat at worst – but one which managed to cut his thinking capacity in half. As a result he’d been thoroughly mocked by Kat (doubly so after she bested him in a sparring match), answered concerned questions directed at him by Berto, and almost got run over because his mind didn’t let him understand that the pedestrian lights were now red and a very pissed-off driver was hurtling towards him.  


With a low groan of annoyance Josh sat on the edge of his bed before falling backwards, a pinprick of a headache starting to form in the vicinity of his third eye. Sleep. Sleep would be good, never mind that it was barely seven in the evening – he’d only had a few hours of sleep the night before.  
Sleep and hope (with little conviction) that he would feel better in the morning.

Chapter One:

  
_Anyone can escape into sleep,_   
_We are all geniuses when we dream,_   
_The butcher's the poet's equal there_   
_\- Emile M. Cioran_   


“Josh, wake up. Josh.”  


A woman’s voice pierced through his dreamless sleep, his body recognizing that someone was gently prodding him in the shoulder. He stirred slightly, the prodding stopping when he did so, but when he made a move to settle back down to sleep some more the prodding resumed.  


“All _right_ , I’m awake,” he managed to murmur, which seemed to satisfy the other occupant of the room. Blearily opening his eyes he saw that he was facing the window of his bedroom, the curtains open and the deep blue of the night sky indicating that it was quite late at night.  


“Ah, you’re up. I was beginning to wonder if I needed to summon Doctor Martinez over here,” the woman continued, the lightness in her tone of voice managing to carry an undercurrent of concern.  


At that, Josh’s mind finally returned to full processing power. “Rachel?”  


“Of course, who else would it be?” she replied, the undercurrent of concern turning in to a hint of panic. “Are you okay?”  


“I’m fine,” Josh lied, turning around to look at Rachel. She was slightly more tanned than he remembered, her ash blond hair long enough to gently brush the top of her shoulders as she moved. She was wearing a dark blue pants suit; combined with the bag she had left on the bed and the bags under her eyes she had tried to subtly hide with make-up, he guessed that she had come back from a long day at work. “I just...was expecting you back sooner. Difficult day?”  


“You have no...well, yes you do have an idea.” Rachel paused to let out a heavy sigh. “I’m coordinating three teams across various time zones, all trying to hone in on a terrorist base. We had the people power to cover all three as we suspect two are simply decoys, but it’s simply exhausting to try and keep track of them. The teams in Taiwan and Oman have turned in for the night, but the team in Angola is doing one last patrol before they too turn in.”  


“How close are they?”  


“The team in Taiwan have reported a few false positives so far, but neither the Oman nor Angola teams have found anything remotely of interest.”  


Josh made a non-committal answer before he sat up in the bed, stretching briefly before looking around for a clock of some kind. Finding none, he instead had to resort to asking Rachel.  


“Almost two in the morning. I’m going to get dressed for bed before I need to ransack some twenty-four hour coffee shops.”  


As Rachel stood up she moved the bag from where she had placed it on the bed, and in doing so enabled Josh to see a faint glinting on her left hand.  


A wedding ring.

[ - ]

After Rachel had laid down in the bed next to him and fallen asleep, Josh’s mind continued to race, thinking over events. The last thing he had remembered was feeling ill and falling asleep...the next he knew he was being prodded awake by Rachel, a much different Rachel than the one he knew...or thought he knew.  


He took some time to ruminate over what had happened, and to try and figure out what _exactly_ had happened. People didn’t just suddenly wake up and find that somehow, the world had moved on drastically without them – at least, not without a cause or some kind of explanation. 

Okay, so he was missing a good chunk of his life, was that really such a big deal? That meant if he still worked at INTEC as an agent (which he was almost certain of) he’d be at least a good year, perhaps two behind in his abilities and ran the possibility of being devastated by an attack. Sure, he had no idea how the inner workings of INTEC had changed and what position he was now in – he was sure no one would wonder why Max Steel, super agent, had forgotten where he worked.  


Sure, he’d be completely screwed if Rachel brought up anything relating to their relationship, and not just in the ‘you’re sleeping on the couch tonight’ kind of screw up.  


Josh quietly sighed. He was royally fucked in this situation. The only cause he could think of was that maybe his nanoprobes were malfunctioning – they’d developed to start giving him better memory recall; who’s to say the opposite couldn’t happen. The only problem was being able to admit without getting in to severe difficulties.  


He was thankful that Rachel hadn't said anything too obscure, and that he was able to bull his way through their late night discussion, but he did have to wonder how long it would be before he slipped up. Knowing Rachel and INTEC's stringent – yet justifiably so – paranoia regarding a certain terrorist organization, the best he could hope for was some jail time and intense questioning.  


At some point Josh managed to fall asleep; the next thing he was aware of was Rachel's pager going off, her getting ready for work and heading out the door some undetermined time afterwards. Not being able to fall back to sleep after that, Josh instead turned to checking over the house to see if it could give him any clues as to his current life.  


Upon walking out of the bedroom, the first thing he saw was that he was still in his old beach house – rented or now bought he wasn't sure of, but at least it offered him some stability.  


The spare bedroom looked as it always did – piled high with miscellaneous junk – and downstairs the living room and kitchen were mostly the same with only a few added touches; a few photo frames or paintings, some extra equipment in the kitchen. Fortunately, one of the added items in the kitchen was a calendar which allowed Josh to pin down the month and year: March 2005.  


He was missing near-enough four and a half years of his life.  


He had been thinking – hoping – that it wasn't too long, but considering his and Rachel's circumstances at work he had known that it needed to have been a reasonable amount of time.  


Josh quickly flicked through the rest of the calendar to see if he could find any other hints, only finding out that his and Rachel's anniversary was on November twenty-third. Well, at least that was one fact he could memorize, he just had to hope no one asked about how it went.  


"Hey, _hermano_ , I see you're finally up," a voice said through the bio-link, and Josh smiled. Well, at least Berto was still around. "Enjoying your vacation?"  


"Sure am, I'm just wondering where this whole check up on me came from. Aren't I supposed to be away from work during a vacation?"  


"Naturally. But Rachel said you seemed a little out of it last night and asked me to check up on you when you woke up."  


"It was nothing, just some...bad dreams. Bad, _weird_ dreams."  


"Care to share?" Berto asked just before the sound on Berto's side went silent.  


"It's nothing to worry about. Besides, shouldn't you be more concerned over eating breakfast rather than quizzing me over every little intricate detail? I thought it was the _wife_ who was supposed to do that," Josh added, putting a joking tone in to his voice just in case Rachel happened to be present in the ops room.  


"If you're going to get technical, _hermano_ , there are three people in your marriage."  


"Yeah; me, Rachel and the annoying little voice in my head."  


At that, Berto laughed. "I'll let Rachel know there's nothing to worry about."

[ - ]

It had only been a couple of hours since he had talked to Berto, but Josh was more unsettled now than before the two of them had spoken. Obviously him and Rachel being married wouldn't have been able to be kept from Berto, but from the way Berto had joked about it it seemed like it was common knowledge at INTEC.  


_And speaking of_ , Josh thought to himself as he picked up the faint sounds of a pager going off. Walking back to his bedroom he spotted a second pager on what he assumed was his nightstand and picked it up.  


_RPTNTIMD._  


Not showing any signs of annoyance or surprise, Josh pocked his pager and began to make his way to the front door, picking up what he assumed were his house and car keys along the way.  


As he walked out of the front door, another familiar sight greeted him: his car was in the driveway looking immaculate. Either Rachel liked the car herself, or didn't care that a young, handsome blond male driving it around was likely to catch peoples' attentions. Either way, Josh didn’t really care – he got in and with a quick flick of the key in the ignition he began to make his way to INTEC.  


As he drove away from the beach house, Josh marvelled at the fact that most of the area surrounding the coastal road he was driving on was still undeveloped; he hoped that was because people were wanting to keep it that way, and not out of some sense of worry about the spread of the ‘undesirable’ areas of Del Oro.  


About fifteen minutes after leaving, Josh pulled up at a barrier to the underwater tunnel that linked Del Oro with N-Tek Island. He quickly scanned his work pass in to the machine and, with a satisfied beep, the barrier in front of him lifted and allowed Josh to drive across.  


INTEC had quite a few underwater tunnels criss-crossing the nearby sections of the Pacific ocean, most of them linking some of the INTEC-owned islands (N-Tek Island, Blue Base, Baker’s Island) with mainland Del Oro. Aside from the car-access tunnel, however, all the rest were only accessible through the magrail system or, failing that, one of INTEC’s jets or helicopters if a situation called for their use.  


As Josh pulled in to one of the empty parking, he spotted a familiar female standing watch.  


“Hey, Steel, was wondering when you were going to get here,” Kat said by way of greeting as she walked over to where Josh had decided to park. Josh said nothing in return, instead his answer was him simply changing in to his alter-ego, Max Steel. “Rachel’s been wondering where you were.”  


“Rachel’s here?”  


“Uh, _yeah_. She came in about three, four hours ago to coordinate a ton of agents. Turns out the team in Azerbaijan found something important. Come on,” Kat added, gesturing over to one of the numerous elevators scattered around the car park. “She’s been waiting for you to get in before she briefs everyone.”  


“Angola,” Max replied, following Kat’s lead.  


“What?”  


“The team was in Angola, not Azerbaijan,” Max clarified as the two of them stepped on to an empty elevator, Kat pressing the button for the briefing room floor.  


“Whatever, Steel. Not all of us have an encyclopaedic knowledge of the world, especially not when they were knocked about during a mission.”  


A moment after Kat said those words, Max was suddenly aware of bandages on the upper bicep of her right arm, as well as a faint, almost-healed cut trailing across her right cheek.  


Before he could say anything, the elevator dinged to announce their arrival at their requested destination, and Kat briskly walked out of the elevator, Max hurrying to keep up. Kat had evidently known which room the briefing was to be held in as she led Max to one of the lesser-used rooms through a maze of corridors. Eventually she stopped at a room marked with the number four and opened the door to let Max in.  


A quick sweep of the room allowed Max to ascertain just how many people were already waiting, and how many of them he knew. The time he took between walking through the door and sitting down allowed him to calculate both: twenty-six people in the room, and he knew eighteen of them. The eight he didn’t know all looked reasonably young – new recruits Max presumed – and one of them walked over to greet Max as soon as he was seated.  


“Oh, hey Max, I, uh, didn’t think you’d be attending this meeting,” the man said, looking quite anxious: his eyes spent only a few seconds focused on Max, then darting away to look at something else in the room before he returned his gaze to Max.  


“What made you think that?” Max asked cooly, but before he could get his answer Rachel stepped through the door. As soon as the door to the meeting room clicked shut, all attention was on her. Nothing was said, however, until she had taken her position at the front of the room.  


“As many of you are aware, INTEC has been coordinating various teams across the globe to close in on a new terrorist threat that we have gained intelligence on. Sections of my team were assigned to investigate rumours and intelligence, and last night one of the teams found valuable information.”  


There was a slight pause as the projector flickered to life, showing a picture of a heavily-secured building next to where Rachel was standing.  


“One of my agents, Steiger, was able to take this picture and transfer it before the team was ambushed. Two of the team have been taken hostage, while a third was carried a short distance away and left for dead in what they thought was an abandoned part of the country. However, a passing local found them and called for medical assistance – they have yet to regain consciousness, but when their scheduled check-in time passed I and some other agents were notified. Those agents who were closest have already been reassigned to Angola and are making their way to the country to investigate.  


“As we are unaware of the complete circumstances of this situation, it has been agreed that extra agents are to be sent alongside those already reassigned.” As those words were spoken, Rachel and Max’s eyes met, and he saw a small glimmer of concern in Rachel’s eyes. Before he could process it, though, Rachel had already moved on.  


“Alvarez, Maple, Saliba, Rosenblatt, Neth, Steel. You six will be sent to Angola and liaise with the other agents already en route. We don’t want any heroics,” this was said with a pointed look at Max and one of the other agents. “We want to ensure the safety of Steiger and the other agents. Good luck.”

[ - ]

Once the mission briefing was adjourned, Rachel had disappeared ahead of the rest of the other agents. Those who had been assigned to Angola, Max included, made their way down to the hangar. There were a few people milling around the various planes and jets that INTEC used, but the majority of the occupants were huddled in the far corner against an almost pure black jet. It looked very similar to _Simurgh_ , one of the jets that Chuck’s team had developed before Max had joined INTEC – it was of a similar design but looked a lot sleeker up front, with a small bulge in what could only be thought of as its stomach.  


As Max walked up to the vehicle, some of the people in the huddle broke off and walked in to it; the rest gradually dispersed either back in to the rest of the hangar or disappeared back in to the main area of INTEC. None of the people he passed were overly interested in him; before long he was aboard the plane and heading towards where he suspected the fuselage was.  


He’d guessed right – ensuring that any questioning would be left until hopefully after the mission – and settled in with some of the other agents, closing his eyes and tuning out the quiet hum of voices. Before too long, the pre-flight checks were over, the plane’s engines roared to life, and the aircraft was airborne and carrying a reconnaissance and rescue crew to Angola.

[ - ]

Upon arrival at Luanda, the new team was greeted by Andre Santos who had given them the rather unwelcome news that the agents were being held on the east side of the country, close to the municipality of Cameia. They were, however, on the far west side of the country, necessitating a very long and (at least in Max’s mind) aggravating trip across the country via local plane, including an overnight stop in Kuito.  


The more time they spent travelling, the more aggravated Max got – surely this was an emergency situation, and the quicker they got there the better. Why Rachel had decided to mobilise agents from the US instead of calling on those more local to Angola was something which had been annoying him since the briefing – if he made some tentative and rather flimsy links, he could see why Rachel had requested him to go, but four rather new agents? Not to mention the sheer number she’d requested – if this was as bad as he suspected, subterfuge and a much, much smaller team would have been better utilised. They would have been able to move quicker, not drawn as much attention, and certainly not contain agents who had barely passed the training exercises.  


Giving a brief shake of his head to clear those thoughts, Max settled down and attempted to get some sleep.

[ - ]

Approximately sixteen hours later (Max wasn’t counting down the wasted hours, not at all) he and a group of three others, two of whom barely had a year’s experience with the agency between then, were huddled in a clump of trees, watching a hastily-built and rather unstable-looking building in the middle of nowhere.  


There was nowhere that looked even remotely like the image Rachel had showed them in the briefing and there was nowhere he could see that they’d be able to keep hostages, not even if they’d managed to dig out a makeshift basement.  


“Saliba, keep check. Maple, follow me. Steel, stay put,” Andre Santos ordered, having accompanied the agents across the country and was now leading the group. Saliba and Maple acknowledged his commands, and so did Max after a few seconds and a pointed look from Andre that could rival some of Rachel’s at times.  


Maple and Santos stepped out, moving cautiously towards the building. Saliba shifted away from their hiding place, keeping within the cover of the trees as he circled the perimeter of the building.  


The further away the three other agents got, the more frustrated Max got. There was nothing here, no armed terrorist group with a bunch of hostages, no world-ending plans being discussed in that building. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was occupied with a family trying to make a home – heck, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was empty, beds long since vacated in search of a life less cut-off from neighbours, hopes and dreams carrying them far.  


A low whistle caught Max’s attention, and he looked up to see Saliba gesturing to Max, making a couple of brief arm movements.  


Coast clear. No one around.  


Before Max could ascertain if Maple and Santos had gotten the same message, Max stepped forwards from the cover of the forests, striding confidently and quickly towards the ramshackle building. As he got closer, the signs of decay became more pronounced, weeds and various other plants starting to climb up the outside of the building. The door was buckled slightly inwards, as if someone had come along and tried to kick it open.  


The door opened with a sharp snap, the weakened material breaking it two upon being exposed to Max’s probe-enhanced strength. A quick glance inside showed a long-abandoned building coated in dust and with more plants growing from the floor.  


A quick audio check revealed no living animals nor humans within the building, and Max turned back towards the door. Saliba was standing there, possibly having hurried over when Max broke his cover, not being able to move quickly enough to intercept him before he broke down the door. Saliba’s eyes darted to the left, the direction Santos and Maple had headed, before resuming contact with his own. Saliba backed away a few steps, allowing Max to walk towards the door, wondering what was going on. Max had missed where Santos and Maple had gone after their initial approach of the building, yet if they’d been captured or found something of higher interest, Saliba would have noted Max.  


“Everything okay?” Max asked quietly. Saliba, who had been scanning the nearby woods, abruptly turned his head back to Max and gulped nervously.  


“Uh, yeah, everything’s fine. Santos and Maple went off to investigate, see if there were any other buildings like this one nearby. This one’s been abandoned for a while, but it might not be the only one here.”  


“Right,” Max said, walking past Saliba and started to head in the direction the other two agents had taken. He’d only gotten a few steps when a hot, searing blast hit him just to the left of his sternum. He gasped, instinctively putting a hand to the site of the injury, encountering a wet, sticky substance.  


Blood.  


_His_ blood.  


He felt his heart flutter, blood flowing out and down his chest, down his back. Pain, almost unbelievable pain. He staggered, vision going dark, unable to balance on his own feet. He collapsed on to the ground, chest first, the blood darkening the forest floor.  


His last moment of consciousness he was barely aware of the click of a gun, the ting of metal being kicked deep in the forest, out of sight, and a voice talking in to a communication device.  


“Saliba here. He’s dead.”


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two:

_Only those who are asleep make no mistakes._

_\- Ingvar Kamprad_

 

 

Max’s eyes shot open, the pain in his chest intensifying as he regained consciousness. A quick visual inspection showed no blood and no damage to his clothing; taking his shirt off and feeling around with his fingers revealed no injury wound , yet the pain still remained. Pulling his shirt back on, Max looked around at his surroundings. He was back in Kuito, the sky outside just starting to show the beginning of a sunrise.

Pulling his shirt back on, Max slid quietly from the bed and began to walk around. Bad dream. It must have been a bad dream. Even with enhanced healing, it would take him a lot longer than a few hours to be up and walking around with no issues and the wound completely healed. He’d be expecting a scar or some kind of scabbing before healing, and with an injury like the one he’d experienced in his dream – it was only a dream – that’d take a few days to disappear.

The thought of ‘a few days’ brought him back to worry. What if he _had_ been knocked out for a few days? It’s not like you remember how long you’ve been in a coma, and this place in Kuito was fairly out of the way, a good place to hide an injured super-agent.

Except...he’d expect to be in a hospital, hooked up to various machines, not in a simple building. He was also alone in the room, no one keeping an eye on him, nothing anywhere to indicate any kind of medical care. Whatever was going on, it was one hell of a dream. Max grimaced and rubbed his chest, the pain having subsided slightly but still present.

“Max? You’re up early,” a female voice said, one which he should know all too well but still, to him, carried an air of caution.

“Hey Rachel. Couldn’t sleep, you know how it gets before a big mission.”

He could have sworn he heard her smile, but he said nothing. “I understand.”

“How come you’re up so late? It’s got to be, what, midnight back in California?”

“Hardly. It’s not even ten o’clock yet.”

“So I’m two hours off. You’re still in the office later than you normally are.” He hoped that was true and that Rachel _wasn’t_ the kind of person to spend more time at work than at home.

“I am in charge of this mission, and that does require me to keep odd hours in order to stay in contact with my team.” Max thought he heard a note of hesitation or uncertainty, but before he could ask Rachel continued on. “This is the first mission I’ve been so actively in charge of for a couple of years; I’d forgotten how exhausting it can be keeping on a different time schedule to everyone else.”

“And yet nothing’s more exhausting than actually being on the mission.”

“Of course. I just thought you’d like a sympathetic conversation. I saw your bio-link was active and decided to talk.”

“Appreciate it,” Max said with a smile. Despite how much their situation had changed from what he was used to, Rachel was still present and still herself.

“I’ll let you get back to your pre-mission prep.”

 

[ - ]

 

Between landing in Luanda and the agents regrouping that morning, more information had come in detailing that the building they were looking for was located in Lunda Norte Province, not Cameia. Thankful that this meant he wasn’t going to test if his dream was a premonition, Max joined the other agents in the journey towards the north-east of the country.

They initially journeyed to Cuango via plane, similar to their journey to Kuito, before huddling in a car and continuing their journey to Lucapo, the former provincial capital. The journey by car was one of the most boring Max had ever experienced, on any kind of vehicle, and he was glad when they finally arrived at their destination and he could unfurl himself from the cramped conditions inside the car.

Santos had filled them in briefly on the history of Angola, but most of it Max had tuned out. Unless a history test was necessary to save the captured agents, he wasn’t that interested, and if fate had a sick sense of humour? Well, he had three others in his team, including the knowledgeable Santos, to help him out.

The group of agents split off, with Max, Santos, Saliba and Maple in the last remaining group, the teams having been decided on their flight over from California. With the other teams canvassing via the main roads, Santos took them through the back streets, seeing sights that only other locals would have – children gathered in groups and playing amongst themselves, observant mothers and older sisters sending brief glances while they talked to friends, neighbours, and relatives, seemingly fairly secure that nothing major was going to happen. The only men around were either very young and included in the children playing, or a few very old men sitting beside the houses, casually looking over whenever someone passed by, but spending most of their time immersed in thought.

“Most people here are miners,” Santos said as he led the group. “Dangerous work, but there is no other work around. Plenty of diamonds, very rich, but little development of the province. People get their money and save it for themselves. Who cares that those who helped build their fortune are living like this? Not them.”

Max nodded, trying to pay attention and sympathise, but the dream was still weighing on his mind. It wasn’t anything more than a bad dream, but he still had an uncertain feeling about it. He deliberately hung back from the group, trailing them and following their lead: if someone ambushed them from the front or side, the other agents would be first to respond. If someone ambushed from the back, Max was sure he’d hear them before they got too close.

Time creeped on and Santos continued leading them through the back streets, Max becoming almost convinced that he was leading them in circles when they turned a corner and the buildings started to become more prosperous-looking and better developed. The group of agents began to cautiously move forwards once again, and before too long a wire-fenced building came in to view, almost identical to the shots they had been shown during the mission briefing.

A couple of guards patrolled between the fence and the building, guns held casually in their arms as though they’d never had to shoot anyone yet, as if the guns were just for show and simply having them warded off any attempts at breaking in. The two guards passed each other at the front of the building, behind a heavily-padlocked gate, nodding slightly in acknowledgement but otherwise continuing on their duties undisturbed.

“This is when we need your skills, Max,” Santos said, nudging him forwards. “We’ve received no proof of life; we have no idea if our agents are even alive, let alone in that building. We need you to get in, scope out the place, and report back.”

“Great idea,” Max said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Only problem being that I can’t get that gate open without causing a lot of disturbance and suspicion.”

“You won’t need to. In about twenty minutes an armoured vehicle is scheduled to drive up and be let in to the building. All you need to do is be on that vehicle when it gets in.”

 

[ - ]

 

 _All you need to do..._ Max thought with a derisive snort quiet enough that he was sure no one heard – not that it mattered as the sound of the truck’s engine would have covered all but the loudest of sounds. He was clinging on to the bottom of the truck, in stealth mode, doing his best to avoid being scraped along the bumpy road that led to the building. The truck shuddered to a halt and, just audible over the engine, came the sounds of voices discussing something in Portuguese. A couple of minutes later, the gate opened and the truck juddered forwards, stopping a few yards further on as the gate closed behind it.

Before the engine turned off, Max let himself fall to the ground with a soft _thump_ and carefully slid out from underneath the vehicle, doing his best to keep silent and avoid knocking in to anything which might give his presence away. He carefully stood up, assessing his surroundings and finding no one nearby, before heading towards one of the doors he hoped would lead him quickly to where the hostages were being kept. Checking for any guards or look-outs, he reached one of the doors and carefully opened it, slipping in and letting the door close behind him. Inside, very little light penetrated through the tiny windows placed at long distances from each other, and the string of lights overhead did little to dispel the rest of the darkness.

Keeping stealth on, Max began to creep down the corridor, keeping an eye out at every intersection to make sure there was no one around. He’d barely been walking a few minutes when his bio-link beeped and, irritated, he closed off the connection in order to concentrate on what he was doing. _Stealth_ kind of implied no communications, and if that was Rachel trying to get an update? He was sure she’d understand.

The end of the corridor widened in to a large room, devoid of people but full of boxes of various sizes and materials, some cardboard and wood, but most metal, and containing heavy items if the heavy lifting machinery was any indication. A quick listen revealed no heartbeats, and as Max crept through the room he began to see more and more things which aroused his suspicions.

First, the guards. Only two of them, and guarding the perimeter in a very obvious pattern, leaving a good chunk of the fence unguarded for long periods of time.

Second, the truck. There had been no search of the vehicle, just a conversation and they’d been let through.

Third, the grounds. Aside from the truck driver and any other occupants, and the guards, there were no people anywhere. He would have expected more people, if not more guards.

Fourth, the building itself. Difficult to see with normal eyes and with no one anywhere, it gave the distinct impression it was abandoned, the guards and truck only there to avoid the casual observer from noting so and trying to see if there was anything worth stealing.

In fact, the further Max made his way across the room, the more certain he felt of that possibility. There was a thin coating of dust on everything, indicating abandonment but not too long ago. The heavy lifting machinery had been left haphazardly, some almost blocking pathways, and all of them still had the ignition keys in – evidently those weren’t what they worried people were going to steal.

Max passed a pile of cardboard boxes and, curiosity ignited, he grabbed a nearby pen knife and slashed across the top of one of the boxes. A quick rummage ending up with half the packing contents showed that the box was empty; the second and the third, when opened, revealed the same thing.

Max backed away from the empty boxes, convinced that if he was to open all the rest, he’d see the same. A building, kept out of reach from citizens, paying people to guard and deliver empty boxes in an attempt to make it look like it was still being used.

If that was the case...what about the missing agents? Surely whoever was behind this scheme wouldn’t have captured agents and held them hostage over a fake building? And if they did, wouldn’t it have made sense to try and bargain some money out of someone?

Reaching the end of the room, Max took two steps in to a nearby corridor and blanched. No, they weren’t going to try and bargain.

They were just going to outright kill.

 

[ - ]

 

“How are you feeling?” Rachel asked as she walked through the front door, seeing Josh slumped on the sofa, watching the television with blank interest.

“As expected,” Josh replied, not turning his attention away from the screen at all. “How long had those agents been there?”

“At our reckoning, assuming they were...killed immediately, about three days. By the time you’d landed in Algeria, they were already dead.” Rachel shrugged off her coat and picked up a small bag of groceries, carrying them through to the kitchen.

“By the time you’d given the _mission briefing_ they were dead. By the time you’d received the picture they were probably dying.” Josh closed his eyes, seeing the mutilated bodies of the two agents. He grimaced, sighed, and opened his eyes to see Rachel standing in front of him, looking at him with deep concern.

“If that’s the case, then nothing could have been done. There’s no sense in haranguing yourself over something that had already occurred before you could do anything to prevent it.”

“And I can’t feel guilt?”

“Of course you can,” Rachel said, standing up straight. “We’re all feeling guilt about it, but it’s not something we could have prevented.” Rachel rubbed her eyes, looking even more exhausted after the events of the past day and a half. “We can console ourselves with the knowledge that they died instantly, no suffering.”

“There’s never no suffering. If they didn’t suffer, their friends and families will instead. Worry over what happened, guilt over not being able to prevent it, despair over not being able to tell the complete truth of how they died.” Josh slumped back in the sofa, trying to hold back the memory this mission had brought up. He was too young to have remembered Molly dying, but hearing that Jim had died was one of the earliest and most painful memories he had.

“Your father, and those agents, knew the risks. They knew that on every mission they ran the risk of dying, being killed, _murdered_ , all because of what they were trying to do.” Rachel slipped in to the seat next to Josh, grabbing one of his hands and holding it in hers. “Do you think I don’t worry about you when you’re on a mission? Despite having nanoprobes, you’re still human.” Rachel paused, waiting for a response from Josh. When she got none – saw him still staring blankly at the television – she continued on. “We don’t know the limits of your ability to heal, how much damage or what type of injury is survivable, what isn’t.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wait to see you again after every mission, worrying that this one is going to be your last.”

“And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about you,” Josh replied, finally turning to look at Rachel. “Despite all our security measures, INTEC isn’t safer than most other places in the world – the bombing twenty-odd years ago and the death of Big Jim, among others, proves that. I know I’m miles more likely to die than you but it’s always at the back of my mind.”

Before Josh can take note that Rachel was shifting in her seat, changing position, her lips on his, kissing slowly, gently – questioning if everything was okay, an attempt at trying to reassure both herself and Josh. She pulled away hesitantly, her eyes asking the same questions.

Josh answered with a kiss of his own.

 

[ - ]

 

“Hey, Steel, wasn’t expecting you back so soon. Bored of your vacation already?”

Max stopped where he was in the training room and tried to look cheery, tried to avoid looking like his mind was trying to calculate all possible scenarios and outcomes and how he was going to tell people. He really did try.

He failed.

“Wow, mission shook you up that much, huh?” Kat said after a moment’s silence, and Max realised that he’d not spoken while he was trying to think of how to avoid raising suspicion.

“Yeah, uh,” Max winced, the action forced and maybe a little melodramatic. “I just...was hoping I’d find them still alive.”

“Hard on us all. Steiger was a good agent.”

“So was Antebi. So we _all_ are. Actually, no, it doesn’t matter how good or bad an agent was when they die.”

“You’re pretty fixated on death today. Sure everything’s all right?”

“I’m sure,” Max replied, the words coming out more forceful and argumentative than he intended. Kat looked at him for a few seconds, silently calculating his unusual response, before her shoulders dropped and she started walking away from him.

“You up for a spar? My usual training partner’s not here, and I know it’s been a while since you practised your moves.”

“Sure.”

Kat hurriedly cleared away a space in between them before striking a defensive pose, watching Max’s movements. Max took a similar pose, the two of them circling each other, Max watching Kat’s movements intently: he’d learned from their first embarrassing encounter when he’d been bested after less than five minutes, and the two of them had gotten to know each other’s fighting style quite well since then.

Weight shifting on to her back foot. A miniscule-but-still-noticeable scuff forwards on her leading foot. A twitch of her left arm as if she was debating whether to lead on a punch or not. Max continued watching, patience starting to wear out as Kat kept circling, looking like she was going to make a move but never did.

After a while, Kat’s flinches and slight feints wore on Max’s nerves, causing him to react and stumble at more and more of Kat’s imaginary attacks. After a particularly embarrassing stumble to which he was glad the gym was empty, Kat raised her eyebrows questioningly, but didn’t voice her concerns. Instead, she reined her pseudo attacks back, replacing them with actual taunts and jabs and allowing Max to land a few attacks of his own.

Kat took a couple of steps back, sweeping some errant hair out of her face as she judged the situation. Both had landed some soft blows on each other, but nothing major and no lasting damage – and, Max was glad, neither of them had yet been knocked to the floor. Four years unconscious sparring experience, or Kat sensing he wasn’t at his usual standards and holding back on what she was capable of?

A few more minutes of back and forth sparring occurred before Kat called an end to their sparring session, grabbing a change of clothing and muttering something about taking a quick shower. Max barely heard, still locked up in his own thoughts, and even when Kat noticed his inattention she said nothing. She threw a spare shirt over her should and walked briskly out of the gym, leaving Max sitting on one of the benches dotted around the edge of the gym.

Kat would never, ever let such a disastrous sparring session go without some kind of remark or partly-joking-but-mostly-serious scathing remark.  The fact that she hadn’t...did that speak of some kind of maturity and empathy on her end, or alternatively – and more likely – she saw how shaken up about the Angola missing he was, and was taking it easy on him.

Yeah, still not like Kat at all. She wasn’t the kind of person to give you distance and understanding about a mission, especially about events beyond your control. She was brash and harsh and willing to kick your ass if it got you out of your funk and focused on the task at hand.

 _I guess a lot’s changed,_ Max thought to himself, standing up and walking out of the gym. He walked without purpose or destination for a few moments before he realised he was taking a way-too familiar path to the Team Steel Ops room.

Well, he was sure Berto would listen to what he needed to say.

 

[ - ]

 

Max hesitated, not quite sure if he should come out with the truth or not. He knew Berto – or at least, him four and a half years in the past – and even then if given the choice he would certainly help Max out before assuming anything bad of him or turning him in for questioning.

“I –” Max began, his nerves faltering. He quickly ran a hand through his hair before taking a deep breath. “The other day, when you asked me if everything was okay? I kinda lied. I’ve been having bad dreams,” Max continued before Berto could interrupt, the young scientist looking almost petrified at what Max was going to say to him.

“Not just your usual bad dreams, but...these ones feel real. That mission to Angola? I dreamed I’d been shot in the chest, and even when I woke up I could still feel pain. Nothing here feels right, either. I feel like everything’s changed since I last remember being here.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I woke up the other day, I didn’t remember anything. Rachel and I are married? I don’t even remember us dating. Rachel promoted, new agents everywhere? I don’t remember any of that, either.”

“What do you remember? You know who Rachel and I are, Kat too, it can’t be that much?” Berto questioned, dreading the answer he knew was incoming.

“I remember meeting Kat for the first time and getting laid on my back during our first sparring session. I clearly recall the mission we were on together against that super fungus, the mission against Lance Breamer, but I don’t remember anything beyond that.”

Berto did a mental calculation, catching on seconds before Max finished what he needed to say.

“Berto? I’ve lost four and a half years of my life.”


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three:

 

_Dreaming men are haunted men._ _  
\- Stephen Vincent Benet_

 

Berto stood still, staring at Max. The silence hovered around them, becoming more and more uncomfortable the longer it stretch on.

“Berto? Bro, come on, say something.”

Berto looked at Max – indeed, seemed to look past him – mentally calculating before turning to the computer and beginning to type frantically. Pictures began to flash up on the large wall-mounted screen, staying only for a fraction of a second before being replaced by a new image, but that was all that Max needed to be able to discern what the pictures were showing. Snapshots of his life, brief moments saved to the INTEC database with dates and locations etched on to them – barely any of his personal life, he saw, and while he was glad he was awarded privacy outside of work, it left a larger mystery of what had happened when he left the building to head home.

“How...how many of those do you keep?”

“A selection. Full video recordings of missions are kept for a month before we select key frames to save permanently – usually those dealing with a new terrorist or which might be useful generally. Those saved frames are dated, timed, and archived.”

“So, nothing...”

“Nothing personal, nothing incriminating. When you’re Max, you’re an agent of INTEC. When you’re Josh, you’re the son of the CEO and someone we sponsor.” More scenes flicked by as the two of them talked, varying like Berto said from some new one-off or reoccurring terrorists to more seemingly-random pictures.

“Rio de Janeiro?” Max asked as a picture of the famous Statue of Christ appeared on the screen.

“One of your first missions shortly after getting married. You commented that you and Rachel needed to take a vacation there. Still yet to happen.” Berto straightened up as the images began to appear on the screen slower, and Max was able to take note of the dates on the pictures.

“How long have you not had any recollection of what’s happened?”

“Uh, a few days. The night before I got called up to go on the mission to Angola, I woke up then, Rachel was there, but I didn’t remember anything.”

“Does Rachel know?” Berto asked, having turned back to the computer and was now narrowing down images saved from the past month.

“I...no, she doesn’t. The Rachel I remember is as cautious as hell, and I doubt she’s changed much since then. Any admission I didn’t know who I was would have gotten me dragged down here for interrogation.”

“And yet you had no objections going on a potentially dangerous mission with almost five years of memory loss?”

“What else could I say? ‘Oh, hey Rache, I’d love to go on that mission but I can’t remember anything since our mission against Lance. Hey, why are you taking me to the cells?’”

Berto frowned but said nothing else for a few moments. Reaching the end of the group of photos, they all disappeared and Berto straightened back up.

“There’s no evidence of any kind of physical damage which might have caused memory loss, and nothing from any of your mission reports either. It could be mental rather than physical, stress or memory repression—”

“Oh yeah, my dating and marriage of Rachel is so horrific that I decided to forget it all ever happened.”

“—in which case there’s nothing we can actively do. If it’s stress, then taking some leave would help; memory repression we’d need to figure out the reason behind it...” Berto took his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Hey, aren’t we missing something here?”

Berto jerked his head up and looked at Max. “Missing what?” he asked, slipping his glasses back on.

“There’s one thing about me that’s different to everyone else. What if the nanoprobes are malfunctioning?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Think about it, bro. Memory testing a few months after I joined, didn’t I get progressively better and better and you suspected it was the nanoprobes starting to enhance my memory? What if the opposite’s happening, they’re degrading and taking all the memories with them?”

“It’s plausible. Retrograde amnesia can leave complete sections of memory blank – however, psychogenic amnesia commonly erases autobiographical information as well. If you had that, you wouldn’t be coming to me and saying you don’t remember four and a half years of your life, you’d be coming to me and saying you don’t know who you are. If there’s no neurological damage, it could be situation-specific – a highly stressful situation or post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“Sounds like my entire life.”

“You’re missing the point. You can remember things clearly before, you can remember things perfectly now, and you know exactly who you are, but you have a huge gap where you remember nothing. That’s nothing I’ve heard of before.”

“Well, there’s one way to test it out. I need to be examined.”

 

[ - ]

 

Admittedly examinations were largely Max being plugged in to a computer and various tests being run, but it was still unnerving to do so. The last time he’d undergone such thorough examinations and testing was back when he was initially doused with the nanoprobes and the scientists were wanting – and needing – to figure out just what had occurred and what effects it had given him.

“Nothing abnormal here,” Mallory Cantero said as she closed the monitoring program. “You’re working fine, all your results corroborate with your last check-up,” she added with a smile. Berto had managed to slot Max in for an examination but didn’t specfy the cause, hence Mallory likely thinking this was just a routine test.

“Thanks,” Max said, standing up. He hesitated for a couple of seconds before turning and walking out of the tech room, no clearer on his condition than he had been before. Nanoprobes functioning fine ruled out their part in his condition, and narrowed it down to physical or psychological.

Max wasn’t sure which he’d prefer – physical would mean they’d find out what caused it, but no clue on how to fix it; psychological would mean they’d be able to fix it, but no clue on what caused it unless one of his missing memories happened to tell them that information.

“Any luck?” Berto asked as Max passed by his desk, having taken some time to do sciency things rather than observe Max.

“Everything’s good and functioning normally,” Max replied, attempting to put a cheery tone in his voice.

Berto typed a couple of words in to his computer, the graphs and calculations on his computer disappearing and leaving a blank desktop in its place. He turned around in his chair and looked up at Max.

“Then the next logical step is to get you down to the medical wing and booked in for a scan. Asn MRI would be preferable, but we can set you up for a CT scan instead.”

“Why can’t I go for an MRI if that’s preferable?”

“You have billions of machines inside of you. Billions of machines, made of metal, which would be very painfully ripped out of your body and towards the magnet in an MRI machine if we were to attempt it. You’d be, frankly, shredded to death.”

“And isn’t that just the best mental image I’ve ever had.”

“It’s necessary,” Berto replied, turning back to the computer and bringing up a new program. “You’ll also need to be admitted.”

“What? Can’t I just turn up, do the scan, and go home?”

“Normally, yes,” Berto said as he began typing. “But given your condition, it might be best if we kept you in for observation and also to start seeing if we can regain memories if it turns out to be psychological.”

“How am I going to tell Rachel? Scratch that, _what_ am I going to tell Rachel?”

“The truth normally helps.”

 

[ - ]

 

Berto had managed to allow Max to head home, and he was now currently in his civilian appearance, pacing the floor of the living room as he tried to figure out exactly what to tell Rachel, and how to say it in such a way that she reacted in a logical manner.

“Yeah, there’s so a logical way to respond to ‘I’ve been pretending that everything’s fine...except for that I’m missing four and half years of memories and all I remember of you is being a partner at work’.” Josh paused in his pacing, having heard a car door slam. When a set of footsteps walked away from the house, he resumed his pacing.

He had no real idea of when Rachel finished work – he suspected that if he had all of his memories, he would know – and so every little noise drew his attention, wondering if that one meant that Rachel was heading home, Josh only seconds away from being forced to tell her the truth.

Well, okay, _forced_ was probably the wrong word. He could avoid telling the complete truth and admit that it was a check-up from the mission...a mission he hadn’t stated any injuries for. How about a general check-up? He wouldn’t need to be admitted for that, not for as long as Berto seemed to imply.

He paused in his pacing once more as a set of footsteps headed towards the front door, getting progressively louder the closer the person got. Josh tried to reason with himself, noting that it could just be someone dropping off some junk mail or flyer for a local restaurant, but those thoughts disappeared when a key turned in the lock and Rachel opened the door.

“Rache? You’re going to kill me, but I’ve kinda been lying to you for the past few days...”

 

[ - ]

 

A few hours later, Max found himself alone, exceedingly bored, and captive at INTEC’s hospital wing. Rachel had taken his comments better than he thought – he was, after all, in a hospital room and not a prison cell – but she was still pretty pissed at him for lying about the whole event.

She had commented that she’d noticed him being a little ‘off’ since the day he admitted he had woken up with no recollection but took little note of it: her main focus had been her current mission. That had made her feel guilty, as if she had realised something was wrong and asked Josh about it – truthfully – they would have been able to sort out his memory loss sooner.

Being that the last time he was here was not an experience he’d like to repeat, Max was understandably a little on edge whenever he heard someone walking around. Thankfully, being a Sunday evening very few people were actually around – a skeleton staff to ensure things were running smoothly, but with no people checked in aside from him there was little need to bring anyone else in for an overnight shift.

Even with Rachel having the next couple of days off, a non-emergency admittance meant that she was only allowed during specific hours – no visiting hours as they didn’t tend to have enough partners or families with the relevant security clearance to be allowed deep in to INTEC’s medical wing, even if they were aware of the counter-terrorism nature of the company – so there was nothing Max could do but wait.

 

[ - ]

 

The clunk-clunk-clunk of the CT scanner slowed to a halt as the detailed scan came to an end. The scan itself hadn’t taken that long, but most of the time needed for the scan was taken up by prep work and various questions, some of which Max wasn’t quite sure were necessary. Still, he sat there and answered the questions and went through the prep without complaint, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this scan would show some results.

“Okay, we’re done here,” a voice said over the tannoy system, as if Max couldn’t have guessed that information. “We’re going to run through the images we’ve got to see if we can see anything immediately obvious. We’ll need you to stay here a bit longer just in case we need to re-do the scan.”

“Not like I have a choice,” Max muttered to himself, uncertain if the technician in the next room could hear him or not. A few minutes passed with Max idly looking at the ceiling and musing, distractedly, that Marco Nathanson must have had some leverage to be able to build a hospital wing without giving away its true purpose...or maybe Jefferson Smith depending on when it was built.

He supposed that either of them could have swung it and said that it was preventative internal medical care for those who got injured testing out sports equipment, but even then if someone was injured badly enough to need an MRI or CT scan, they would have – usually – been better off being driven or airlifted to the nearest hospital.

“Must have taken some pretty convincing lies,” Max muttered to himself. He, admittedly, did have to wonder just how much of the hospital had to be refitted after his accident – nanoprobes apparently, according to Berto anyway, would show up on quite a few tests, including routine blood tests, and anything they could do to avoid Max being looked upon as a medical wonder was great.

“Can you stay here for a few more minutes? We need to go and get Doctor Stiles.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Max replied, hearing quick footsteps and a slamming door almost as soon as he said the first syllable.

Doctor Stiles...nope, he didn’t know anyone by that name at INTEC. He mused that they must have been a new recruit since he joined: a general recruit or a specialist to diagnose and look after Max?

Max’s thoughts were interrupted when a group of footsteps grew louder, the door to the CT examining room slamming open painfully loud, loud even for those who must have entered the room, but none of them showed any sign of it.

“Max? I’m Doctor Stiles,” a voice filtered through the intercom, Max detecting a hint of uncertainty and caution even above the noise and static the system was creating. “We have...some rather interesting results from your CT scan.”

Max hesitated. ‘Interesting’ was never something you wanted to hear from someone in the medical field: it either meant you’d be poked and prodded and examined as a medical oddity for a good portion of your life, or it meant hideous news...and Max was sure he knew which option Doctor Stiles was going to say.

“We’ve spotted a subarachnoid hemorrhage, a rather large one. There’s...rather a lot of blood and we suspect there’s also some intraventricular hemorrhaging. We’ve notified the local hospital and we’re prepping a helicopter to airlift you over there – emergency surgery, it’s a mystery why you haven’t experienced any kind of symptoms given the severity of the bleeding.”

 

[ - ]

 

Max had very little time to contemplate what was happening, especially as soon as he landed at Saint Jude’s hospital he was prepped for surgery – he did have time to turn back in to Josh just to avoid awkward questions and the tech team trying to create a backstory for one Max Steel.

He’d woken up in the ICU – precautionary measures, he was informed – bleary-eyed and feeling almost completely disconnected from the world. The lights were too bright; staff, friends and relatives were making too much noise as they walked past, so much so that even the sounds of their footsteps echoed around painfully; the beeping and readouts of the various machines was almost too much for him to bear.

It also didn’t help that he’d had a massive headache since he had woken up, one which not even the pain medication he was being given seemed to have any kind of effect. Not even a request to a nurse helped any, and Josh laid wondering if this was, yet again, another side-effect of the nanoprobes – efficient pain control measurement to the area that was the most painful, leaving other, lesser pain to be dealt with later.

These were things he expected to know, that he _should_ know, that he probably asked about and encountered in the past...but lying there in that hospital bed, he was as clueless about his situation as when he was first told about the nanoprobes. He was just as lost and confused as he was back then, needing someone to come in and set it all out in simpler terms, but with the major difference that he had no idea just how many people knew and how many people needed to know. Did more people know than needed to know, or would he still go through the process of explaining how little he knew of his life, of past events, seeing their reactions go from shock or surprise to pity...

Josh closed his eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths. This wasn’t the type of thing he needed to be thinking about. He had a chunk of his past missing – fine. Wallowing in self-doubt wasn’t going to solve that issue, and neither was constantly debating scenarios and going over ‘what if’ cases.

Unfortunately, being in hospital gave him a lot of time to do both.

 

[ - ]

 

Berto hurried through the hospital’s corridors, a bundle of papers he’d managed to verbally wrestle from a doctor clutched tightly in his hand. He’d only had time to glance at the notes before needing to dash to his intended destination. He hastily shoved his glasses back up the bridge of his nose before slowing down to a quick trot.

This area of the hospital was empty, with Berto’s footsteps adding to the background hum of various machines – with no one to risk running in to, he resumed his scan of the notes as he continued along the corridor.

By sheer coincidence of timing, by the time Berto got to his destination he was just finishing reading, and a brief glance up before he entered the room presented an unexpected view.

“Rachel. I...wasn’t expecting you to be here,” Berto said, quickly looking around at the rest of his surroundings before looking back at Rachel. “How are you doing?”

Rachel said nothing in response, simply staying in the same position, staring through the doorway. The silence extended for a few more seconds, Berto not moving during that time, and when it became certain that Rachel wasn’t going to respond, he slipped past her and in to the room.

If the machine beeps and ventilator sounds had been of concern when Berto was brushing past the other occupied rooms, it was a lot worse standing right next to them. It had only been a few months since Berto was last in a similar position, seeing Josh grow weaker and weaker, with only the thought that a last-minute solution would magically come to them and solve the whole situation.

At least back then they knew what caused the problem. Josh was dying – again – and they didn’t know why.

Berto put the papers he’d brought with him on the side table before running through all the necessary checks, scribbling his own notes in to the clipboard hanging at the end of the bed. Once done writing, he glanced at his watch – fifteen minutes had gone by in which nothing had changed – the beep of the machines was still and steady, as was the noise of the ventilator, both of which would have been reassuring if it was any other person.

Berto replaced the clipboard at the end of the bed, picked up his papers, and began to walk out of the room, briefly noticing that Rachel had moved from her observation point in the time he had been checking up on Josh. He closed the door behind him and turned down the corridor the opposite direction to the way he’d came.

He paused as he noticed Rachel in one of the common areas, eyes closed and slouched against the back of a worn sofa, a cup of coffee loosely held in her hand. He debated whether to wake her or not, and decided better of it, quickly breezing past and continuing towards the exit.

“How is he?”

“He’s...” Berto sighed. “He’s stable. His vitals are all steady and there’s been no sign of significant deterioration.”

“But he’s no better.”

Berto turned to look at Rachel. “No, he’s no better. In all likelihood he won’t get better unless we can find out what’s wrong with him. Are you certain you noticed nothing abnormal?”

“Every time someone asks that, I give a definitive answer, yet I become less and less sure myself.” Rachel took a sip of her coffee. “No, I didn’t notice anything abnormal. He was perfectly fine, being his – quite frankly – obnoxious, rule-breaking self, the two of us leaving on more aggravated terms than usual. Given the events which had transpired in Colorado I didn’t find it that unexpected, and I thought nothing more of it. Until, of course, I was woken by a page and informed that Josh had gone in to a coma.”


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four:

_We are such stuff_  
As dreams are made on; and our little life  
Is rounded with a sleep.

_\- William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act IV, Scene I_

Josh awoke and found himself, once more, staring at the off-white ceiling of his bedroom. The window was slightly ajar, a gentle breeze displacing the closed curtains every so often. The faint sounds of ocean waves crashing against the beach reached Josh’s ears – a small, subtle reminder that everything was still okay.

Everything was _not_ okay.

This was the second time he’d woken up from experiencing either dying or rather worrying medical information, and far from being aggravated about it he was becoming anxious. Just why was he having these dreams, and why were they so realistic?

Josh shrugged off the sheets and walked out of his bedroom, down the stairs, and in to the kitchen. Everything was how he imagined, how he had left it – _2000_ he, not _2005_ he – and there were no indicators that anyone else had any influence on the contents of the house.

A calendar hanging askew in an almost-invisible corner of the kitchen gave him a firm month and year: October 2002. Far earlier than the last time he had checked, but still almost two years off what he expected the actual date to be. Still, he wondered just what had happened in that time -- was he dating Rachel or someone else? Was he not dating at all, work taking all of his free time? Speaking of work, what was occurring there? Josh stepped away from the calendar, the multiple and incessant questions his mind was asking giving him a headache.

Just as he was doing his best to quash the endless questions, the doorbell rang, giving him a reason to be distracted. He moved from the kitchen, through the living room and to the front door, opening it wide without even thinking to double-check who was on the other side (not that he was worried, but it was good to be cautious sometimes).

"Yo, Steel, you ready?"

If asked, Kat would have been one of the last people he expected to turn up on his doorstep, a half-zipped jacket and pair of pants over a wetsuit, surfboard tucked up under her arm. Josh cast a quick glance over his shoulder to see an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway -- just to make sure, he looked on the other side to see his own car there.

"Jeez, I know you requested some mental health leave, but I didn't expect you to act like I'm a complete stranger." Kat looked up at Josh, slightly puzzled.

"What're you doing here?"

"And this is what I'm talking about." Kat stepped forward; automatically, Josh stepped back, leaving a gap which allowed Kat to walk in to the house. "You call me over, suggesting an afternoon of surfing, chatting, and just general hanging out...and you greet me, acting like you barely know me." Kat leaned her surfboard against the wall next to the door, turning to face Josh and put her hands on her hips. "Spill."

"It's nothing," Josh said, earning himself a fierce glare from Kat. "I've...just been having some odd dreams. Really realistic, odd dreams."

Kat's glare softened and she went to go and sit down on the sofa. "What kind of dreams?"

"Well..." Josh hesitated. "This is just going to sound silly."

"After what happened, I don't doubt you're having strange dreams. I'm your partner; you can tell me."

"I've been dying. All right, I've only died once, but that's been enough." Subconsciously he brought a hand up to rub his chest. "It's been death or a dangerous medical diagnosis. I was shot, in a forest in Angola. I had a brain bleed and I was being prepped. I woke up in 2005 with no memories of anything beyond November 2000. I..." Josh stopped. Saying he didn't remember anything from November 2000 until now wouldn't help anything.

Kat had said nothing, hadn't moved, but she had a sympathetic expression on her face.

"I'm not sure if I even know what's real now or not."

"Well, you can believe I'm real," Kat said with a small smile. "So, we gonna go surfing? Get your mind off things."

"Sure. Just...you said I requested mental leave. What happened?"

Kat's smile disappeared, replaced by a look that was a mix of confusion with some slight horror.

"You don't remember?" she said, hesitantly. She stood up cautiously, taking a step towards Josh. "Nothing?"

"No."

Kat looked down towards the floor slightly, biting her lip. Just before Josh was about to repeat his question she looked back up and answered.

"Your last mission. You and Rachel...we don't know the details, you never said anything and Berto was away from the monitor, but...Rachel died. Her funeral was yesterday. You were there for it; you were there when she died."

Josh looked aback. "But I..."

"Can't remember anything. Yeah, I guessed as much."

[ - ]

True to her word, Kat did accompany Josh out to the ocean for surfing and chatting, and if she did her best to avoid talking about anything even remotely related to Rachel and her last mission, well, Josh was thankful about that because he highly doubted he wanted his first recovered memories to be what had happened to her.

The ocean was pretty empty with only the odd handful of people around, and most of those were just chilling on the beach; this despite it being a pretty warm day even by Del Oro's standards, with good surfing conditions. He'd managed to wheedle the date out of Kat (who had attributed Josh not knowing it to the confusion over his dreams) and currently the two of them were just leaning on their surfboards, drifting out a couple of hundred yards away from the shore.

"So, you've got a week left before your leave is up. A whole week of no missions, no assignments, no Smith pulling you in for an emergency. Any plans?"

"I hadn't thought of anything." That was, for once, the whole truth. Josh didn't have a clear idea what he'd really be doing until he was back at INTEC. Unless..."Is Berto also on leave?"

Kat snorted. "We all wish. Even if he was he'd still be skulking around the halls of INTEC -- you know he's been saying about getting an apartment over the past year, right?" Josh nodded. "Well, he's still cooped up in that tiny little hole INTEC has the audacity to call 'accommodation' and despite what he says I think he'll be staying there until the sun goes nova."

"So he's still working?"

"Sure is. Nothing can keep him away."

[ - ]

Josh felt an eerie sense of déjà vu as he walked the halls of INTEC -- this time as Josh McGrath, not Max Steel -- through the familiar corridors, down a couple of flights of stairs, and deep in to the R&D section of INTEC where the Team Steel Ops Room was. Josh had often wondered about the location, but if he thought about it logically, it did make some kind of sense: it meant Berto wasn't too far away from other scientists (just in case)...and also Josh himself wasn't too far away from other scientists and the generator room (just in case).

Josh pushed open the door to the ops room, smiling slightly to himself at seeing Berto hunched over the keyboard, speedily typing away, lines of code appearing on the screen. The whole room looked as Josh remembered it which was a good sign. Aside from Rachel's death, nothing too major had occurred in the two years he couldn't remember...

With a preternatural sense, Berto seemed to know that Josh was there, as when he swivelled his chair around his face betrayed no surprise or concern; merely an acknowledgement that Josh was there, as if he was expecting him.

"So," Josh said, walking forwards and putting his hands in his jeans pockets, trying to act calm. "What's the news?"

"Working on a report for Mairot," Berto said, swivelling his chair back and resuming his typing. Berto typed in silence, Josh hovering behind him, uncertain of how to approach the discussion of his missing memories for a second time. Again, with a preternatural sense, Berto knew that Josh hadn't left and so turned around a few minutes later, fixing Josh with a stern look.

"What are you doing here? You should be on leave. You _need_ to be on leave."

"Like you're one to talk. You're still here, working. Rachel's not even buried a full day yet and with you, everything's back to normal and all fine."

"I'm working because I have to." Berto turned back to face the monitor, but no sounds of typing started up again. Instead, he just sat there, staring at the screen, the two of them still in silence.

"I can't remember."

Instead of swivelling back, like he had been doing, Berto just gave Josh a confused look over his shoulder. When Josh didn't elaborate, Berto simply said, "Elaborate?"

"I can't remember. I've..." Josh rubbed his hands over his face, a weary expression appearing. "I've been having dreams. Dreams where I've been dying, dreams where nothing has been making any sense. Yesterday I was in the hospital being told I had a bleed on my brain; the day before that, I was in Angola on a mission; the day before _that_ , I saw it was two thousand-five and I was married to Rachel. Today? I find out that Rachel died and her funeral was yesterday, and I _don't remember._ "

"Back up a bit. You woke up and it was two thousand and five?" Now that had Berto's attention. "Two thousand and five, as in three years from now?"

"Yes."

"And you have no memories of, what? Rachel dying?"

"No memories of anything beyond November two thousand. Berto, I need to know what's going on. The last time I asked about this -- in a dream -- you said it could be amnesia. Is it possible for someone to just lose two years' worth of memories? Because I really need to hope it is. I really need to hope that this is something that can be solved quickly.

"I really need something to make me remember."

[ - ]

As before, Josh was sent through a physical and also a check-up to ensure the probes were still functioning as expected. To everyone's surprise but Josh's, everything came back as expected. There was no reason (physical or electrical) for the sudden memory loss and, at a loss for other things to do, Berto did what he did best: researched for papers and information on other instances of total memory loss with no visible cause.

However, nothing had come up on Berto's initial search and, with nothing better to do, Josh headed back home.

It wasn't until he stepped through the front door of his house that he really began to think about what he was missing. He was just lucky he still lived in the same house otherwise it would have been chaos him trying to find his way back. Just how many other major events had he forgotten? Was he still enrolled at Del Oro U, and if so what was he studying? How was he going to explain the lack of knowledge of two years of study?

What about friends -- how had Laura gotten on with her research year? How was Pete doing? Last Josh remembered the two of them were talking about Pete potentially moving in with Josh in the new school year, and Laura perhaps joining them the year after than when she was back in Del Oro. Yet...Josh had seen no sign of neither Pete nor Laura setting up residence in the beach house: no personal mementos or trinkets, no piles of dishes in the sink needing to be washed up, no smelly sports kit (thanks Pete) hanging out by the front door needing to be washed but Pete never getting the time to do so.

With nothing much else to do, Josh did a slow survey of the house, noting things which he expected to be there and comparing with any new things he found. However, when he'd gone through the entirety of the first floor and found nothing different, he began to wonder. _Nothing_ had been changed in the past two years? No plates accidentally smashed, no glasses broken -- did he even live here on a day to day basis any more, or was it simply a place for him to have an address in Del Oro?

By the time Josh had done a quick look-through of the upper floor the sun was beginning to set, casting a long reflection over the ocean and lengthening shadows on all the items in Josh's room. He cast a cautious eye over his bed wondering, as was seemingly always happening, if tomorrow he would wake up and continue this life, or if he'd find himself in a different one altogether.

[ - ]

Josh's alarm blared to life at six-thirty in the morning and a groggy, bleary-eyed Josh tried and failed to find the 'off' button in his still half-asleep mindset. By the time he had found the off button he was wide awake and there was little prospect of him getting back to sleep any time soon.

Sitting up and sweeping a hand through his hair quickly, he paused for a moment to consider the events of the past day. He was at his house -- a good sign -- and recalled the discussion he'd had with Berto and Kat about missing memories -- also a good sign.

Josh headed downstairs and in to the kitchen, casting a quick glance at the calendar tucked away in the corner of the kitchen (and making a mental note to move it to a more obvious place). The month and year was still October 2002, a third good sign.

Maybe he was where he was meant to be now?

[ - ]

"Knock, knock, Steel!"

Confused, Josh opened the front door (both glad he was in the living room and could hear her, but also wondering why she was calling rather than ringing the doorbell) to see Kat standing outside, a pizza box in one hand and a bundle of discs in the other (well, that would explain why she didn't ring the doorbell).

"Thought you might need some company," she said by way of explanation, walking through the open door and piling the afore-mentioned items on to the table in the living room. "Lunch and a movie, all on me. Well," Kat paused, taking a quick look at the clock hanging up on the wall. "More like brunch, I suppose. Hope you don't mind that the movie's autobiographical."

Kat flicked through the bundle of discs and picked out the first one in the pile. She slotted it in to the DVD player Josh had, turned on the TV, and flumped on the couch with remote control in hand. Josh just stood there watching her, wondering what she was up to, but as the show began Josh's confusion only deepened.

"Is that...that's what Berto sees?"

"Yup," Kat said, popping the 'p'. She pressed the pause button and leaned forward, flicking open the pizza box and taking a slice. "Berto archives your mission records. Not everyone, but certain major ones. He dug these ones out of storage and gave them to me, said it might help with your memory." She quickly ate the slice of pizza she was holding, moving her hand as if to wipe it on her jeans, then reconsidered. "Got any napkins?"

Josh ventured in to the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with a large wad of napkins; he gave half to Kat before sitting down on the sofa next to her. He paused, considering, before taking a slice of pizza himself and beginning to eat it.

"Now," Kat said, unpausing the DVD. "Let's get on with the show."

[ - ]

Over the next couple of hours Josh and Kat went through about a third of the DVDs, Josh responding with either a yes or a no to a certain mission. Those that didn't have visual records instead had after-action reports, some written by him, some written by Kat...and some written by Rachel. His after-action reports varied in quality, Kat's were brief and to the point (almost excessively so; Josh absently wondered just how many after-action reports she'd had returned with the instructions for more details). Rachel's were immaculate, and just as they were reaching after-action reports and statements Josh didn't recognise, he thought he could start seeing subtle influences on his own reports.

"I think we need a break," Kat said, standing up and stretching her arms towards the ceiling. The pizza was long-since finished, only the empty box and a large handful of napkins remaining. Shortly after they'd started reviewing the logs Kat had found a notebook and proceeded to scribble various notes on them; those notes were hastily scooped up from their haphazard scattering on the table in to an almost respectable pile.

They had managed to narrow down the start of Josh's absence of memory to around November-December 2000. Kat had tried to hide a quick expression of enlightenment but wasn't quick enough before Josh saw it; however, it only served to confuse him further.

"You up for some lunch?" Kat said after glancing at the clock and seeing it was post one in the afternoon. "I'll pay."

"I'm fine," Josh replied automatically. He wasn't hungry; hadn't been hungry since the previous 'day', in fact. He pushed that out of his mind as Kat packed up the discs and shot a quick bye in his direction, mumbling something about demanding work.

As the door closed behind her and left him alone, Josh became hyper-aware of the silence in his house. If he strained he could just about hear the crashing of the waves of the ocean on the beach, the hum of numerous electrical items, but that was all background noise.

Everything was too quiet.

[ - ]

A jacket on to protect against the often biting-cold wind from the bay, a couple of hours later Josh was on the promenade, looking out at sea and idly watching as various people strolled by. He still wasn’t quite sure how to take in everything he had been told – he doubted he would understand it all and the repercussions any time soon. Still, he _needed_ to know everything as soon as he possibly could. Especially as Rachel’s last mission....

Josh growled slightly to himself, mentally shoving that thought away as he pushed against the wall he had been leaning against, walking along the promenade. He needed to stop thinking about it -- what good was moping about an event he couldn't even remember? He'd get his memory back, remember what happened, and then feel guilty about it.

 _If_ he ever got his memory back.

Josh shoved his hands in to his jacket pocket, speeding up his pace. He focused more on continuing to move forward, focused on stepping forwards, continuing to move, driving the thoughts out of his head by concentrating on just taking one more step.

"Whoa! Hey, you're really out of it today, Josh!"

If it weren't for Josh's heightened senses, even in 'civilian' form, he no doubt would have collided with the person who had just spoken. As it was, it was still a close call, Josh almost colliding with someone _else_ trying to avoid crashing in to the first person.

"I...sorry. I've been a bit distracted recently."

"'Nother competition coming up?"

"Uh, yeah..." Josh said, quickly scanning around to see if anyone might be waiting for the person he was speaking to. Seeing none, he returned his attention to her. Tall and lanky, a young teenager who'd gone through a growth spurt recently but whose body hadn't quite gotten the proportions right. Medium length black hair in a loose plait, brown eyes, freckles which were starting to fade. He felt some pang of recognition (she certainly acted like she knew him well enough) but not enough for his mind to offer any clues about who she specifically was.

"Aw, crud," she muttered as something started beeping, rummaging through her shorts pockets to find the offending item. Finding it a moment later, she pulled out a phone, almost half-brandishing it to Josh before she looked at the screen, fingers flying over the buttons on the device.

"Hey, Aaron," she said, turning away from Josh as she began speaking. "No, I'm still heading there, just got sidetracked a little. I'll be there in --" she briefly looked at her watch "-- five minutes, tops. I promise."

She ended the call and looked over at Josh. "Sorry, I've gotta go. Promised a friend I'd meet him and I'm late. You don't mind, do you?"

Josh cracked a smile. "Not at all. Go ahead."

"Great. I'll see you around!" she yelled as she took off running. Josh watched the crowds as she left, still racking his brain as to where he'd seen her before. Giving up after a few moments, he simply shrugged to himself and turned around, heading back in the direction he'd come.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

_All the world's a stage,_

_And all the men and women merely players:_

_They have their exits and their entrances;_

_And one man in his time plays many parts_

_\- William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act II Scene VII_

 

            As with the past six days, Josh woke up cautiously, scanning the bedroom for any obvious differences; when none presented themselves he did a quick sweep of the upstairs, followed by the downstairs, finished off with a check on the calendar to see if he was still in the same month and year he'd expected. When he was, he breathed a sigh of relief.

            Whatever had been going on had seemed to have stopped, and Josh wasn't quite sure if he was happy about it or not. On the one hand he was in a stable point and was beginning to believe that he would wake up and the world's date had only incremented by a day and not find out that he'd been zapped to the year twenty twenty-five, for instance.

            Kat had continued to come round whenever she had time (although she did let Josh know that she was currently in an annoying fact-finding missing: she'd been roped in to help D-INT and had been spending hours sifting through long and boring papers) to help prod Josh's memory, but so far after their narrowing down of just when he'd lost his memory, nothing else had become apparent.

            He had found out that he was no longer enrolled at Del Oro U -- whether that was because he'd finished his degree or because he had dropped out no one said (and apparently the lack of anything declaring him to have graduated was, according to Kat, no indication of anything). Between that and his time off from work, he had plenty of time to simply laze about the house, head down to the beach, or go to the promenade and see what had changed.

            It was the latter that appealed to him most -- he'd already spent a lot of time at his house, relaxing, and was getting the urge to get out and about, at least a little bit. He'd driven his car over to the main parking area before wandering out to the promenade and looking around.

            As to be expected, Café Café and The Red Iguana were still there and still as crowded as he remembered. Someone had, however, decided that the promenade wasn't quite wide enough and some people were busy building an extension of some sorts all along it, jutting out in to the ocean on stilts like the pier itself did. As Josh passed by some of the people were taking a quick break, leaning against the construction built to keep people out, chatting to each other. Close to the pier there were a couple of wooden stalls looking almost complete, with a scattering of more in various stages of completion spanning out from the area. One of them already had a sign up proclaiming the owner's intention to sell coffee from the small building.

            He turned off the pier, heading down the footpath on the main road through Del Oro. The commercial area was starting to build up there as well, rather than just be a collection of low-rise apartments. Dotted along the ground-level floors of the apartments were some new commercial businesses -- as Josh walked along he mentally noted all of them. Sub-Zero, a busy business offering frozen yoghurt; a new conveyor belt sushi business which was fairly empty (no surprise when they were likely competing with a second sushi place on the promenade); and a strange place offering a wide variety of Vietnamese food but also something Josh noted on the menu called 'bubble tea'.

            Josh hesitated for a few moments, debating whether or not to head in and see what it was. Deciding against it, he continued on, making a mental note to ask Kat about it when he next saw her.

 

[ - ]

 

            He was back at his beach house by three, although he did resist the temptation to call Kat and ask where she was. As he thought about it, the more illogical it seemed -- he'd been here for a week with no one but Kat and Berto even coming close to contacting him. Neither Pete nor Laura had been around, and even his own father hadn't checked up on him. None of them would have stayed away for so long, even if they did know what was going on -- surely familiar people and familiar surroundings would help?

            Josh snorted at that. Technically he had both -- he was still living at the beach house, and Kat was someone familiar to him. So was Berto, even if he hadn't seen him for a while. But still, you'd expect his best friend since fifth grade, his maybe-girlfriend, and his father to count among those who'd be best to visit him.

            Wouldn't they?

            Josh could feel the first strains of a headache coming on and sighed to himself, turning to the kitchen and heading over to the sink to grab a quick drink. He casually sipped it as he looked out of the kitchen windows, not looking at anything in particular but instead just watching as a few scattered people made their way across the beach, accompanied by a few light wisps of cloud in the sky.

 

[ - ]

 

            It took two days before Kat dropped by for another visit, and unlike all the previous times she was fuming. With barely a greeting to Josh she had stormed through the living room, into the kitchen, grabbed a soda and turned back to the living room to collapse onto the sofa.

            "D-INT are useless," she finally muttered after a couple of gulps of her soda; Josh felt confident enough to approach her, seating himself on the other end of the sofa and waited as she finished her drink. "I -- and a shit-ton of others -- run around for three days chasing up on info they need, and it turns out it was misfiled. No one even thought to check out their records just in case. Three days wasted work."

            "What was the information for?"

            Kat threw her free arm up in the air. "Hell if I know. They never said what the information was, just that they needed it." Kat finished her drink, tossing the empty can onto the table in front of the sofa. She breathed out a heavy sigh but she didn't say anything more; Josh, hesitant to aggravate her already-frayed temper, stayed silent as well.

            "Screw it."

            Josh looked up as Kat stood, tracking her movements as she grabbed the discarded soda can, deposited it in the nearby trash, and then walked over to the front door. There she paused, hand on the doorknob, looking over at Josh.

            "That is _really_ creepy. Just sayin'."

            "Sorry." Josh broke his gaze and looked instead out of the main living room window for a moment. "Where are you going?"

            Kat paused. "I dunno. Somewhere." She glanced back over at Josh, seeing him looking at her again. "You up for heading to the sports park?

            "Sure."

 

[ - ]

 

            The Del Oro Sports park was still up and running, albeit with a few additions. Kat had pointed out the replacement or renovation of some sections to a largely distracted Josh. The motorcross arena had been expanded; a new vert ramp had been comissioned and was sponsored by one of the new restaurants in town; the mountain climbing section up mount Zirkle had been deemed unsafe only a month prior and was sectioned off as people determined whether it was worth saving.

            "All the usual stuff," Kat said, a quick glance over at Josh. She swung her skateboard absently in her hand, bag slung one-strap on her shoulder, Josh carrying similar items. “People for the DOX were incredibly pissed when they had to shut down the mountain climbing event with no notice, and it took staff a while to think up a sub event.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            The two of them turned the corner to the skateboarding section. Another renovation, according to Kat: the above-ground sections largely missing and instead replaced with sections dug in-ground. Other sections of the sports park had been moderately crowded but here the place was swarming with people.

            Kat grimaced.

            “It’ll be fine. We’ll just...hang around until it’s less crowded?”

            The Kat Josh knew would have simply snarked back at him about her waiting to do anything involving _waiting_ ; this Kat took his suggestion and walked over to a small collection of benches nestled in the shade. She tossed her skateboard and bag under where she was sitting and leaned back, closing her eyes as she did so.

            Josh mirrored her movements and the two sat in silence yet again, Kat keeping her eyes closed while Josh casually scanned the crowds of people in the skateboarding arena. Most people were using skateboards but there was a small group on the far side using bikes, and a couple of people rolling around on what looked like normal shoes. When one of those people wiped out Josh could see, instead, that there was a wheel embedded into the heel of the shoe.

            After a few minutes Josh turned his attention back to Kat who was still leaning back, eyes closed. If they were in the sun he would have thought she was doing some form of urban sunbathing, but her silence was beginning to make him even more anxious.

            “Where is everyone?”

            That got Kat’s attention: she opened her eyes and looked over at him, confusion on her face. She glanced over at the skateboarding section, wondering if he had noticed a major absence there, but it was just as crowded as it was when they arrived.

            “Where’s who?”

            Josh grimaced. “You know. You _should_ know. I wake up with no memory and the only people I’ve seen are you, Berto, some random scientists and a young teen girl who seems to know who I am.

            “Who I’ve not seen includes Pete, Laura, and my dad. Where are they?”

            A flicker of emotion passed over Kat’s face before it settled into a mask – a mask that was eerily similar to one he’d seen on Rachel’s face numerous times. That wasn’t an expression of no emotion – that was an expression of her controlling whatever emotion she was feeling.

            “Been taking lessons from Rachel?” Josh snapped, remembering only moments later what had happened to her.

            “Josh. I –“

            “What?”

            Kat tore her attention away from Josh and over towards the blue sky.

            “Kat.”

            No answer.

            “Kat.”

            She continued staring at the sky.

            “ _Kat!_ ”

            She snapped her head around, mask replaced by a look of fury.

            “I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she said, her voice oddly calm and at odds with her current expression. “I shouldn’t be telling you anything; Berto will kill me when he finds out.”

            “He won’t. I’m not going to tell him.”

            Kat gave him a sceptical look. “Have you really forgotten? Do you think just because I’ve not been around that no one has been keeping an eye on you. Berto might be busy with other work, but he’s still making recordings of what’s happening to you. He should be scanning through and watching this recording about three hours from now.

            “Laura’s gone,” she added before Josh could respond to the information that Berto was recording everything. “After her research trip she quickly finished college and moved away. Given her connection to you we kept an eye on her, but a moving ship in the vast ocean is very difficult to keep track of.

            “Pete’s still around, but he denies that he knows you. He took Laura’s side after your last argument, one you had with her which caused your breakup. You could try contacting him but he won’t listen to you.

            “Smith...” Kat paused to take a steadying breath. “Smith’s dead. Your last mission...for whatever reason, the fucking _CEO_ decided it was major enough that he needed to accompany the two of you on it. You were the only one who came back alive, and didn’t say a word about it. Now you’ve got convenient amnesia, so we’ll never know.”

            “ _Convenient_? Do you think I deliberately gave myself amnesia? Deliberately chose to forget almost two years of my life?”

            “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done something to absolve yourself of guilt. Can’t remember? Can’t feel guilty about it. Easy.” Kat stood up, grabbing her items from underneath the seat. “Don’t believe me? Come on, let’s go.”

            Despite himself, Josh followed Kat back through the sports park, tossing their items into the back of the car. Once reasonably secured, Kat shot out of the parking lot and headed in land, towards Del Oro’s made graveyard.

 

[ - ]

 

            “Believe me now?”

            “I didn’t not believe you,” Josh said, not taking his eyes away from the brand new marble headstone. Rachel’s grave was too new to have a headstone placed, and so when Kat had led him there all that marked the fact that she’d been buried was the fresh, loose soil.

            Josh’s eyes traced over the engraving on Jefferson’s grave, marking out his name, date of birth, and date of death. The nearby graves all indicated similarly new dates of death, though the majority of those had dates indicating reasonably decent-lengthed lives.

            Kat stayed silent as Josh stayed crouched in front of the grave. When Josh glanced back she was still standing still, hand clasped behind her back, eyes a little distant as if she was having a conversation with herself.

            Well, maybe she was having a one-sided conversation with Jefferson.

            “Where’s the memorial wall?” Josh said finally as he stood up, brushing dirt off his jeans. “Is it still around?”

            “Still on the top of the hill,” Kat said, inclining her head in that direction. “Kinda hard to move it. Did you want to me come with you?”

            Josh shook his head. “I’ll be quick. I just...you know.”

            “Yeah.”

 

[ - ]

 

            The memorial wall in Del Oro’s main cemetery had initially started as a monument to those from Del Oro who had fallen in World War One, a tribute to those who had died with no bodies to recover. The names had been added to with the various wars since then, and starting from 1972 a small uptick in the number of names engraved on it each year.

            On occasion, a civilian name was added when a local resident had died under the same conditions. Many of the INTEC names had been placed there under that assumption, no one questioning why one town had so a small but noticeable number of random civilian deaths.

            There had been no civilian deaths between 1983 and 1985, allowing the two names of James Robert McGrath and Molly Joan McGrath (née Hendel) to reside together. Death at sea pretty much ensured no body, and Jim’s body had been unrecognisable, ensuring that all of the presumed dead had been added to the wall after that incident.

            Towards the far right of the memorial wall were some new engravings, a couple of names and dates marking them out to be likely INTEC agents who had also died on the mission. Looking at that, Jefferson and Rachel appeared to have been lucky to get a proper funeral.

            As Josh had said to Kat, he didn’t stay long; long enough to check up, murmur a few words, and walk back down the hill to where Kat was waiting for him.

            “All set?” she asked, getting a slow nod in response. The two of them said nothing as they walked back to the car, and the silence for the drive back to Josh’s house was broken only by Kat turning the stereo on and plugging her phone into it.

            Kat pulled up to Josh’s house and he was halfway out of the car before it had even stopped moving. He grabbed his things out of the back, slinging his bag across a shoulder, and moved to slam the door shut.

            “Hey, Steel. I’m still around if, you know...” Kat trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

            “Sure,” Josh said simply, closing the car door and walking up to the front door. Kat stayed where she was, watching him unlock his door and walk inside, waiting a couple of minutes to ensure he was going to stay there.

            Once satisfied, she turned over the car engine and made her way back to her own place.

 

[ - ]

 

            The house was silent.

            Josh had made it deliberately so. Since waking up and finding himself time-displaced for the second time, he’d consciously made sure the house wasn’t silent at any point of time. Leaving the television on in the living room while he made some food, having the radio blaring out popular music while he worked out in his still-functional gym, or even simply having the air conditioner on when he strictly didn’t need to.

            The house was never silent.

            Until now.

            The silence was deafening but Josh reigned in his impulses to turn something on. Instead, he focused on some of the other sounds he could hear: his neighbour watching a random daytime program, the crashing of waves on the beach, the seagulls screeching as they flew overhead. If he really concentrated he could make out the faint sounds of airplanes in the sky, although it took all of his concentration to hear them. Wipeout was a far way from the airport, and it offered very little airplane noise pollution because of it.

            Kat’s answered had given him closure on some of his questions, but in their place even more were popping up.

            Just what had happened on that mission? Why had Jefferson accompanied himself and Rachel? How did he remain the only survivor?

            He could guess the answer to that last question, the same answer as to why he’d survived a number of missions before. The nanoprobes enhancing his senses and abilities also helping to keep him alive from what seemed to be all but the most fatal of injuries.

            If he could trade that...

            Josh shook his head, clearing the thoughts. Much as he wanted to, musing about it wouldn’t help. What would help was getting his memories back, but so far nothing seemed to be working towards him in that regard.

 

[ - ]

 

            _Blood._

_Pain._

_Rachel standing above him, gun in her hand, the smell of gunpowder in the air. Pain in his chest, blood seeping out. He’d been shot by her._

_Rachel reached out a hand; he took it, pulling himself to his feet. The bullet wound was gone, and as he looked at Rachel their background changed. They were back in Berlin, in the subway chasing after L’Etranger._

_Max took his time finding the hostages, Rachel dashed up ahead to find L’Etranger. They fought, Rachel not strong enough and being tossed to the side._

_Max had the strength, but not the training. He too was knocked down, lying beside Rachel as blood trickled from both of their injuries._

_Max blinked._

_Paint peeling off walls. Musky scent in the air. Dust over everything. Rachel sitting opposite him on a thin mattress, running over the logistics of the sub-machine gun in her hands, ammo lying on the bed beside her._

_His dad, inspecting a pistol, checking the ammo for that._

_Himself, with no weapons. Making a snide comment about such, Rachel smirking and commenting that he was the best weapon._

_Walking out of the room, seeing that they were in the middle of a bunch of run-down buildings in a hot a humid country._

_Jefferson commenting about revenge._

_Rachel staying silent._

_A failed ambush._

_A gunshot wound._

_Blood._

_Pain._

_Rachel standing above him, gun in her hand, the smell of gunpowder in the air, Pain in his chest, blood seeping out._

_She looked up, firing off another shot of her pistol. His dad’s pistol. The bullet hit flesh, someone grunting in pain before the sound of them falling to the ground echoed around._

_A second gunshot._

_A third._

_A fourth._

_Rachel looking shocked, slumping forwards, falling to the ground. Two through-and-through bullet wounds, dead before she hit the ground._

_Only survivor._

 

[ - ]

 

            Josh woke up with a start, his hand automatically going to his chest. Finding fabric there, he tore his shirt off, feeling experimentally with his fingers. No indentation, no slight puckering of the skin. Nothing to indicate he’d been shot and – if Kat was right about the timeframe – there wouldn’t be, not for him.

            His dream lingered in his mind long enough for him to quickly search the house for a pen and some paper, and he hurriedly scribbled down what he remembered of the dream. It was fractured, uncoordinated, sometimes illogical but it was a start.

            As he finished scribbling the dream down, he glanced at his watch. Coming up on seven in the morning. Josh debated for a millisecond whether to head over to INTEC, but he’d decided before he could even finish the thought.

            He quickly got dressed, stuffing the paper into his jeans pocked. He dashed out of the front door, just remembering to lock up, got into his car and gunned it down the highway to N-Tek Island.

 

 [ - ]

 

            “Berto!” Josh half-yelled as he approached the ops room, jogging through the corridor. A couple of people gave him odd looks but did nothing to stop him, and the door to the ops room obligingly opened as he got near.

            A dark-haired person was hunched over by the console, and Josh breathed out a sigh of relief.

            “Berto, you’re awake. Listen, I’ve figured out –”

            Josh paused as he heard the clicking of high heels, turning in the direction the sound was emanating from. _Not possible._

            Both Berto and Rachel turned to look at Josh. Berto had a neutral expression on his face, slight bags under his eyes hinting at him having had a long night. Rachel, however, looked as immaculate as she always did.

            “What have you figured out?” Rachel said, arching an eyebrow. She glanced quickly at Berto who, by now, had turned his chair around so that he was completely facing Josh. Josh, however, was more preoccupied with just how Rachel was here than answering her question.

            “ _Hermano_ , are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six:

_I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly,_

_or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man._

_\- Zhuangzi_

 

            Josh stuttered for a moment, his mind trying to process the scene in front of him. Was he still dreaming? Still?

            "Josh? Is everything okay?" Rachel said, stepping up to stand in front of Josh, a hand lightly resting on his cheek. "You're bleeding."

            She pulled her hand away, Josh noticing that it was covered in blood. He felt nothing, glanced down and saw nothing, no origin for the blood, no potential wound.

            “You’ve been shot,” she added, still in a calm, neutral voice as if she was discussing something completely mundane. Her face remained neutral and, with a quick glance, Berto’s was the same, too. Neither had made a move, neither seemed to think to do anything.

            “Run.”

            “What?”

            “Run,” Rachel repeated. “Disappear. Forget.”

            “Forget _what_?” Josh asked, but as he blinked the room disappeared. Rachel, Berto, both gone. The ops room, vanished. All that was left was pristine whiteness, so bright and blinding that there was no telling where the floor ended and the walls started, no telling if it was a small box barely a few feet square, or went on for miles.

            Josh tentatively raised a hand, feeling forwards. Nothing hit the tips of his fingers, so he cautiously stepped forwards, keeping his hand outstretched. Fair less painful for his fingers to connect with something than his nose.

            “Do you not remember?” Rachel’s voice echoed, disembodied. “Run.”

            Josh ran.

  
[ - ]

 

            The beach house. His beach house. Just as he’d left it when he caught that cold. Pizza box still needing to go into the recycling, small pile of dishes needing washing up. Junk mail he’d discarded, numerous flyers and leaflets for local events or information that didn’t interest him.

            “You’re back,” Kat said, Josh turning around to look at her. She was lying on the sofa, one hand behind her head, one leg straight and one leg bent at the knee. She had the TV remote in her other hand, lazily flicking through channels, not stopping on any one for more than a few seconds.

            “We were worried.”

            “We?” Josh said, taking a step closer. Kat didn’t move from her position, didn’t look away from the television.

            “All right, not me. Berto, Smith, Rachel. They were all worried.”

            Josh frowned. “Why would they be worried?”

            “Because you disappeared.”

            “I didn’t --” Josh managed to get out before the room disappeared. Kat remained, now standing in front of him, green eyes pinning him with an intense look.

            “You disappeared.”

            Josh blinked, and Kat was behind him, her hand on his shoulder.

            "You disappeared."

 

[ - ]

 

            He was at the beach, various people scattered around. The majority were in the water: swimming around, on surfboards, on jetskis, or just messing around. Some were scattered around on the beach; as Josh looked left and right more people came and joined them, but the numbers in the water dwarfed those on the beach.

            “Why?” Rachel said as she sat down next to Josh. Unlike everyone else she was dressed rather inappropriately for the beach: a mauve skirt suit and three-inch black heels.

            “Because,” Josh replied, not wanting to play more mind games. “Because I can.”

            “No, you can’t,” Kat said, appearing in front of Josh. She was wearing a blank tankini with shorts, hair slightly damp. “You think you can, but thinking and doing are two different matters.”

            “They’re not,” Rachel said.

            Blink.

            At INTEC, in one of the various meeting rooms. Rachel’s suit and Kat’s tankini replaced by their usual work clothes, the two of them standing apart, looking at each other. Rachel with a look of carefully-controlled anger, Kat with a raised eyebrow and her arms crossed.

            “Forget,” Kat said before turning on her heel and walking out of the room.

 

[ - ]

 

            His old home, the house on the hill. That of the rich and the pretend to be rich. In his old room, decorated as it was when he was twelve. No car poster, only that of his childhood interests. Fluffy, his cat, curled up on his bed, fast asleep.

            “What do I do?” Josh asked, noting his voice sounding a lot higher pitched than he was used to. A glance towards the mirror; not only was the room as it was when he was twelve, so was he.

            “Remember,” an unfamiliar voice said, and Josh turned around to look at a brown-haired, blue-eyed man sitting on his bed.

            “Max?”

            “Jim.”

            Josh looked over at his biological father, seeing him age before his eyes. Wrinkles on his face, hair more grey than brown before the brown disappeared completely. Eyes stayed the same intense blue, eyes that drilled into Josh.

            “You remember,” Jim said, not even taking time out to blink.

            “Remember _what_?”

            “Everything.” Jim allowed himself to blink before standing up and walking out of Josh’s room. He paused past the threshold, beckoning Josh forwards. Josh followed.

            “But I don’t remember. I woke up with no memories, the world continuing on without me.” The two of them hit the staircase and Jim didn’t hesitate before walking down them. Josh followed, a few steps behind.

            “No. You need to remember. What happened?” Jim reached the lower floor, turning around and heading to the back of the house.

            “I –” Josh hit the lower floor too, pausing and closing his eyes to think. “I remember Aspen. I remember becoming a human popsicle. I remember being drained of transphasic energy. I remember almost dying before Berto managed to get me into the generator.”

            “And?” Jim said; Josh opened his eyes to see Jim in front of him, a curious look in his eyes. He now looked a lot younger, almost like a copy of Max; the eyes were narrower, cheekbones a little higher, nose a little wider.

            “And...” Josh faltered. “I don’t –”

            “ _Remember._ ” Jim grabbed Josh’s biceps, forcing Josh to look at him. “What do you remember?”

            “...I don’t.”

 

[ - ]

 

            N-Tek Island. Well, technically Nieves Island although given its history it seemed to have half a dozen names and a person’s age bracket could be estimated depending on just what they called it. Josh was standing on the edge, looking out to Del Oro Bay and the curve of buildings that surrounded it. One of the ferries had only just recently departed, full of people and heading from the island to the bay.

            “It’s beautiful,” someone said, and Josh turned around. He wasn’t surprised to see who it was, considering who the last person was: Molly McGrath. She looked a lot younger than in any photos Josh had ever seen of her. “I always forgot what Del Oro looked like.”

            “It’s not a place you forget,” Josh said. “It’s pretty distinct.”

            “You could say the same about your father. If you know him for any length of time you had a hard chance of forgetting him.”

            “Why are you here?”

            “I am here because I am here,” Molly said, crouching down to sit on the ledge, legs dangling over the ocean. “Is there any other reason why people are where they are?”

            “Many.”

            “Are you here because you are here?”

            “No.”

            Molly looked up at him with her dark brown eyes. “Then why are you here?”

            Josh didn’t answer immediately; he instead looked out into the bay, watching the progress of the ferry. A couple of gulls screeched overhead, drawing Josh’s attention for a second before he turned back to look at Molly.

            “I’m here...I don’t even know why I’m here.”

            “There is always a reason. What is yours?”

            “I don’t _know_.” Josh clenched his fists together, now glaring out over the bay. “I don’t _know_. I wake up knowing nothing, I come here where everyone expects me to know, where everyone’s asking me odd questions that I can’t answer.”

            “What can you answer?”

            “I...nothing. I can’t answer anything.” Josh sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m lost. Completely lost.”

            “Well, shall we get you found then?” Josh looked over at Molly as she stood up, walked over to him, and offered a hand. “Then maybe you’ll get a question you can answer.”

            With a small smile, Josh took Molly’s hand.

 

[ - ]

 

            The first thing that Josh was aware of as he started to regain consciousness was the steady rasp of a ventilator; as he came to more he noticed a faint pressure around his nose and mouth; a mask. He stayed at that level of perception for a while, his eyes refusing all requests and demands to open, and so he simply focused on the sound of the ventilator until he drifted back to unconsciousness.

 

[ - ]

 

            The next time he woke up, he managed to sense a little bit more. The ventilator and mask were still there, but as he managed to twitch a finger he felt a cool, thin sheet under it. He focused more, trying to repeat the action, but exhaustion pulled him back under.

 

[ - ]

 

            The third time he woke up, his eyes responded to long-ago sent signals and opened a scant amount, allowing him to just see brilliant white and blinding light before the intense brightness forced them shut. He moved his hand – his whole hand, not just a finger – and was vaguely aware of someone saying something.

            He tried to say something in response; his throat dry and under-used resulted in whatever he was trying to say coming out more as a guttural groan.

 

[ - ]

 

            He opened his eyes.

            Blinked.

            Closed them for a few seconds.

            Opened them again.

            Blinked a couple more times.

            He was staring up at a blank white ceiling, numerous lights dotted in the ceiling panels providing the light for the room. The mask was still covering his mouth and nose, and despite his initial thoughts he resisted the urge to yank the mask off. Instead, he tried to move his head to the right, only managing to move it a small distance, noticing a figure sitting in a chair not too far away.

            “Max?”

            The sheer effort involved in moving his head had exhausted him again, and he was back unconscious before the person had got up from their chair and crossed the small distance between them.

 

[ - ]

 

            The lights were off.

            Everywhere was silent; even straining his ears as much as he could he couldn’t hear anything. The ventilator had been removed, leaving his room almost eerily quite; he’d grown used to the metallic breathing sound when he woke up.

            He flexed his fingers, bringing up his left arm and looking at it. His upper body movements were fine, just completely exhausting whenever he tried anything his body deemed too strenuous. He placed his left arm back down and proceeded to bring up his right up, but was stopped short as something close by jangled dangerously.

            He glanced over, seeing an IV running from the back of his right hand to a very wobbly-looking stand next to him. He cautiously placed his right arm back down and closed his eyes.

 

[ - ]

 

            “ – you sure?” someone said, the voice sounding like it was hovering over Josh.

            “Positive,” someone said from a distance away, and the nearby voice ‘hmm’d. Something sharp poked a finger on his left hand; Josh flinched, not yet having the presence of mind to verbally complain.

            “Reflexes are good,” the hovering voice said, followed by another sharp pain on a finger on Josh’s right hand. “Josh, can you hear me?”

            Josh could, but trying to make any kind of response was exhausting. After what felt like an age he managed to open his eyes again, seeing a very blurry person-shaped figure hovering over him.

            “Josh? Blink twice if you can hear me.”

            Josh blinked twice.

 

[ - ]

 

            Josh was staring at the ceiling when the door opened, and he managed to have just enough presence of mind to turn his head and look at who had entered the room.

            “Hey _hermano_ ,” Berto said with a weary smile, putting a small stack of papers down onto the nearest table. He was wearing a white lab coat – something Josh had only ever seen him wear when they’d first met – and his glasses did little to hide the dark bags under his eyes.

            “Hey, bro,” Josh managed to croak out.

            “I need to run some quick tests, make sure everything’s all okay,” Berto said by way of explanation before starting on the tests. Pupil response, pain response, checking for any neurological or spinal damage, verbal quizzing on his name and age and various other minor details. The tests were quick but exhausting, and by the time Berto had finished Josh was almost tempted to let unconsciousness take him once again.

            “Top marks,” Berto commented, putting a pen back into the pocket of his labcoat. “You shouldn’t be in here for too much longer.”

            “Hey, Berto,” Josh said as Berto began to pick up various items. “What...what happened to me?”

            Berto’s hand rested gently on Josh’s shoulder. “Get better. We’ll talk about it later.”

 

[ - ]

 

            Josh’s full recovery wasn’t as quick as Berto had surmised, and Josh was still in the hospital two days later. The IV had been removed, he was eating normally and was able to walk (pace) around the room, but the doctors and scientists had wanted to be extra cautious and keep him for observation.

            Which was annoyingly like the last time he'd spent any length of time in INTEC's medical bay.

            The door to his room clicked open and Josh glanced over, expecting to see just another person in a lab coat standing there, but instead saw Rachel in her usual INTEC uniform. She smiled at him, seeing that he was awake, before settling in to the chair next to the bed.

            "How are you feeling, Max?"

            "Cramped and claustrophobic," he muttered, loud enough for Rachel to hear. Her smile didn't falter, and she instead inclined her head towards the bed. Josh took the hint and sat down.

            "So, do I get to hear what happened from you?"

            That wiped the smile from Rachel's face, a flicker of concern crossing her face before she settled into a neutral expression.

            "You would be better talking to Doctor Martinez, he --"

            "Has told me _nothing_." Josh paused. "I wake up, have various tests performed on me, and I'm not told _why_ this or anything has happened. I --" Josh paused again, frowning. "What day is it?"

            "December twelfth. You've been...in a coma for three days."

            "Year?"

            Rachel gave Josh an odd look before answering him. "Two-thousand. It wouldn't be any other year."

            "Huh." Josh leaned back on the bed. "That's...interesting."

            Rachel raised an eyebrow but the two of them remained in silence for a few moments, the only sound being the ticking clock on the far wall of the room. Josh shifted a little uncomfortably, shooting a glance over at Rachel who was still sitting prim and proper, the neutral expression still on her face as she waited.

            "I had dreams. Maybe I'm still having them, I don't know. If I am..." Josh chuckled harshly. "Well, then who knows where I'll wake up next. Alaska?" He sighed. "Three days?" he said, looking over at Rachel. She nodded. "Felt like more than that."

            "Do you need me to get someone?"

            "Berto? He's not said anything. No one has." The two of them fell back into silence, once again only interrupted by the ticking of the clock. After a short time Rachel's pager went off; she made her excuses and left.

            Leaving Josh in silence with the ticking of the clock.

 

[ - ]

 

            His return home was a little anticlimactic. It was as he left it, right down to the empty pizza box that should have gone in the recycling but was more likely to go in the regular trash instead;  he was certain that he didn't want to know what all the green stuff happily growing in the box was.

            He sighed, shook his head quickly, and immediately deposited the box into the trash bin. He paused by the kitchen window, glancing out. The skies were gloomy and grey, clouds low-lying with the promise of some much-needed rain, scaring off the majority of people from the beach.

            A knock on the door drew his attention; he turned and headed towards the front door, glad for any distraction someone could throw at him. At this point? He'd eagerly talk to a dictionary salesperson.

            Rachel. Prim and proper. Hair tucked behind her left ear (only when she was nervous, and she was never nervous), looking almost _casual_ in slacks and a button-up blouse.

            "Josh," Rachel said, the name sounding very foreign coming from her. From her, it was always Max, occasionally Mister Steel, never Josh or McGrath.

            "Rachel," Josh said back, some confusion on his voice. He stepped back, offering Rachel a way in, but she didn't move. "Is this another dream?" Rachel just looked at him. "I'm dreaming again, aren't I? I go from dreaming I'm married to you to you being dead and now I get a dream where you're alive and you're acting like you don't even know me."

            Again, silence stretches between them and Josh is almost tempted -- _almost_ \-- to grab something and throw it, just to end the long stretches of silence between them which have become common.

            Instead... "Has Berto informed you of your situation?"

            "No."

            "Did you want to go for a walk?"

            Josh shrugged before saying yes; why not? He grabbed his keys, stepped out of and locked the front door; the two of them left their cars at Josh's house and meandered across Wipeout in the vague direction of the pier.

            "I probably shouldn't be the person you're hearing this from," Rachel said, sliding her hands into the pockets of her slacks. "You had a cold. No one even thought anything of it, and even when you went into a coma no one thought it might be connected to your cold."

            "So all of this...because of a cold?"

            Rachel nodded. "Berto and the other scientists are running diagnostic tests, but Vadher reckons that your immune system, bolstered by the nanoprobes, went into overdrive and started attacking your system. They avoided any permanent damage, but if their theory was correct we had to wait until the cold virus cleared out of your system before you could recover."

            "So I'm okay now?" Josh said, stopping near a patch of grass, brown and dusty from a lack of rain. "I'm not dreaming."

            "You're not dreaming," Rachel said back with a smile.

            It began to rain.

 

 

[ - ]

 

_I've always said that one night, I'm going to find myself in some field somewhere, I'm standing on grass, and it's raining, and I'm with the person I love, and I know I'm at the very point I've been dreaming of getting to._

_\- Drew Barrymore_

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who waited through for this to end. I really had intended to get this finished before the end of summer last year, but real life intervened in very major ways.
> 
> There may be a sequel to this in the future (it's still very much in the abstract phase) but if there is, it'll be called "All I'm Dreaming Of".


End file.
